


Better lovers

by kuillsins (EykielAfterDark)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Brainwashing, Evil Shiro, Hate Sex, M/M, Non-Consensual, Painplay, Past Abuse, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 09:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8662228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EykielAfterDark/pseuds/kuillsins
Summary: Helpless tears stung Keith's eyes. Shiro, painfully observant, set the lube down and thumbed the tears away gently with a hand that Keith knew would only bring him pain. "Oh, Keith. I’ll make it feel good if you let me."Keith reached for the bitter, painful stone of betrayal that cut him from the inside."I’d rather die," he whispered.-Spy AU, where Shiro is the mole and Keith is caught up in his lies.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even have an excuse for this. It's spicy, so that's what counts, I guess,?

He liked the new addition to the HQ. Of course, he always knew that one day the little spitfire would weasel past security and land himself in the cage since long ago set up for this very purpose. 

"Shiro," growled his weasel from its cell, voice slightly muffled through the plexiglass but no less hateful.

"Keith," he replied with a smile as warm as hell frozen over, "It’s good to have you back, buddy."

 

* * *

 

 

Shiro made him obey. "One wrong move and the Castle of Lions will fall, along with all its spies," he explained as he waited for Keith to get on his knees. Keith, trembling with white hot rage and unable to say a word with how hard his jaws were clenched, refused, and Shiro went on, "See, I left a parting gift in the basement. It’s one of my favorite toys. And one of Zarkon's best inventions, now that I think to recall. A adorable little bomb shaped like Pidge's Rover, with a blast that would shame a ton of explosives."

A beat passed.

“You’d kill your teammates,” Keith barely got the accusation around the knot in his throat.

“Team? Oh, no, no. We both know that Voltron is no team at all. Pidge will desert Voltron soon, now that she knows her dear father’s not dead. Lance is crippled with his homesickness and Hunk is too much of a coward to lift a finger against me.” Shiro smiled. “And our infallible general, Allura—”

"They thought you were their friend. They trusted you," snarled Keith, as if he wasn't reeling from having his own trust crushed under Shiro’s own heel.

Shiro, knowing better, merely nodded. "And what a shame things had to come to this."

In an instant Shiro had gone from that playful, eager, too-transparent comrade to a blackhearted demon in the shape of his most trusted partner, and Keith was so shaken he didn't know how else to react except with anger he couldn't control.

Anger made him predictable. Only when his face connected with the scratchy bedsheets that he remembered Shiro telling him that, back when they were not enemies but two halves of the most perfect lie. The cold hand yanked his arm back, twisting it so cruelly Keith couldnt hold back a broken, agonized cry. Shiro only laughed.

"That punch was downright shameful."

Fingers clawed at the hem of his pants and pulled.

Keith bucked, panic searing through him, lightning sharp, laced with snap trap fury. Shiro didn’t budge.

"S-Shiro, you fucker—"

"Yes, that’s right. I'd intended to make love to you softly under the stars on our first anniversary," Shiro purred, breath curling against the shell of Keith's ear.

_ This _ Shiro? Fucking  _ him? _ It rattled him. It scared him. Expecting the next frantic jerk, Shiro punished him by doubling the weight on Keith’s arm. Keith  _ screamed _ and Shiro continued, casually, over the split sound, "I didn’t want to fuck you while you were my prisoner, but c'est la vie, Kogane."

The blinding spots in his vision took a while to fade but when it did Keith found his cheek pressed against a patch of his own helpless drool. Shiro was rubbing soothing circles into the small of his back, occasionally dipping down to the exposed curve of his ass. Keith's pants and underwear were already dropped to his ankles, both his hands clasped in Shiro's massive grip above his head. Already he was bent over the bed, ass tilted for Shiro’s favorite fucking position, and nothing he did would stop what came next.

Keith thought about trust, and about betrayal, and how it hurt. How Shiro's expression had become tortured when Keith finally came clean about the locker rooms back in the spy training facility. How Shiro had gone so frigid with anger that Keith had to make the man promise never to do anything rash. How ever since that night of relived trauma and tears Shiro always held him gentler, softer, never wanting him broken again —

How this same Shiro was uncapping the lube and drizzling it liberally onto the crack of his ass with a cheerful, "Ready or not.”

Helpless tears stung his eyes. Shiro, painfully observant, set the bottle down and thumbed the tears away gently with a hand that Keith knew would only bring him pain. "Oh, Keith. I’ll make it feel good if you let me."

Keith reached for the bitter, painful stone of betrayal that cut him from the inside.

"I’d rather die," he whispered.

Over his shoulder, Keith watched as Shiro smiled the smile of those bidding their goodbyes to the dead.

"Oh, come now. What's the fun in that?"

Shiro’s prosthetic, metal and inhuman, enclosed Keith’s length to knead in all the right places. The prosthetic’s lifeless chill was so overwhelming that it dragged a strangled groan from Keith's throat.

Lips were pressed to his sweaty hairline, as Keith ground his tongue between his teeth to choke back any more sound, as Shiro chuckled and said, "No matter, I'll make you love to make love to me."

 

* * *

 

 

Keith hated Shiro, but what he hated even more was how he was responding to the two fingers stretching his entrance open. The years had seared mindless pleasure over the memory of this touch, and though his mind ached to forget, his body clung on tighter than ever.

Inside him, those fingers quirked. Keith’s hips jerked, his thighs straining to hit that delicious angle. It took everything he had to quash the instinctive groan as Shiro reciprocated with a thumb along Keith’s puckered rim.

Shiro hummed. A third finger slid in alongside the other two. It was cold, as the other two had been. Nails scraped his scalp, then fastened around the roots of his hair and tugged.

He forced himself to count the tarnished bars of the bed frame, to find meaningless patterns in the stained concrete wall. To think about how his treatment could’ve been sharp and bloody and ruthless. Shiro’s fingers sped up. It was the sweetest rhythm. His next exhale was a whimper, and when he blinked more tears ran.  _ This could’ve been worse. _ Under his jaw, the sheet was soaked.

“Good?” asked Shiro as he eliminated all possibility of another reply with an unyielding pressure against Keith’s sweet spot.

Keith clenched desperately against those fingers.

“Good," Shiro purred.

Shiro pulled out and Keith’s entrance twitched, testing how the emptiness felt. An ugly realisation loomed. It wasn’t empty enough. Shiro was going to enter like this? — No, Shiro  _ was _ going to enter like this. Shiro wanted it to be tight, and painful, and it didn’t take an idiot to know that Shiro didn’t want to give a damn.

Their thighs brushed and instantly Keith recognised the hot and heavy weight of Shiro's cock, even as it slid across the crack of his ass. The rough prod against his lips, however, was new.

He craned his eyes down to take in the slimy metal digits fighting for entrance past his gritted teeth. Shiro said, “Suck.”

The bastard had known Keith would’ve bitten if it hurt.

“You know I can force you, Keith.” Even though the words were heavy with threat they were flippant, in the only way Shiro could make them.

Behind him, his hands curled bruisingly into fists. Struggling made Shiro’s stiff belt cut deeper into his elbows. A metal finger scraped his gums.

“Keith,” warned Shiro.

Shiro knew him. Shiro had  _ made _ him this way, coaxed Keith’s fighting spirit out of nowhere when it seemed there was only depression and self-loathing left.  _ Shiro _ was the one making it difficult for the both of them now because he had equipped Keith with a survivalist fury long since honed into a blade. Sure he was scared and violated but he—

A single slick movement did it. Shiro pushed his cock into Keith’s ass, and as the muscle was forced open wider than it was ready for Keith let out a foreign, broken howl,  only for it to be choked back on itself as Shiro’s metal fingers dug against his tongue. Keith ground his jaws down on those metal fingers, not to fight, but because he was desperate for it, for anything to brace himself against that persistent encroaching hardness. He thought he knew Shiro’s length but now it was as unfamiliar as the man fucking into him with all the care of a demon. It seemed to never end.

“Tight,” moaned Shiro. Keith’s strength was waning. It was Shiro, as always, who held the both of them up. Even now, as he used his knee to knock Keith’s trembling leg back into position for the smoothest slide.

Shiro had to roll his hips to sheath himself completely, and as he did, the tip of that achingly hard cock brushed against Keith’s prostate. The feather-touch of pleasure only sweetened the pain. He could feel all of Shiro inside him, but even clenching around him wasn’t enough.

“-Fhiro,” whimpered Keith around the metal digits, and the word tasted exactly like what he was choked with: lube and precome overlaid by the bitter tang of die-cast steel and one entire year of waiting when he didn’t know if Shiro would come home.

Those familiar lips kissed his temple, tongue licking at the trails of salt on his cheek. Now that Shiro had bottomed out there was a brief moment to catch their breaths. Keith didn’t fight back as Shiro pulled both hands away and cupped Keith’s cheek, then leaned in and kissed him. The foul act was tender and soft, in the shape of a beautiful smile, lasting until the pain faded. It was when Keith, caught up in the addictive rhythms, moved to reciprocate that Shiro drew back.

He’d been toyed with. Keith couldn’t mask the feelings of humiliation fast enough.

“Fool you twice,” mused Shiro.

Keith dropped his head back down onto the sheets. “Yeah, shame on me.”

Keith clenched around the length inside him, reminding Shiro what he had brought Keith here for. The man let out a low gasp of want, one of those sweet reactions Keith found he still sought after, even after everything.

“You slut,” smirked Shiro. His hands, one callused and one cold, ran down Keith’s neck, shoulders, arms, settling to squeeze his ass.

“You love it,” gritted out Keith. “Now make your love to me.” The hands settled at the base of his neck, pushing his head down into the mattress.

Shiro didn’t move. “Need to come?”

“Actually, I’m thinking about fucking you,” said Keith, voice muffled, “How you looked as you rode, and begged to come.”

“You  _ liked _ that? You were always so quiet when it was your turn,” frowned Shiro. “Here I thought you were just playing along for me. Pegged you as a bottom boy from the start.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Keith clenched again, sweetly.

Shiro hid his groan behind a smile like a rusted blade. “My mistake.”

“Was it a good fuck?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” said Shiro. “I’ll think about it.”

Keith felt the air change, even before Shiro gathered all his strength to him, goaded by his evident pettiness and wrath. The cock slid out of him, and as the fingers on his nape tightened it erased any doubt that he was going to be fucked good and hard — and painfully — like he’d predicted.

The first jolt knocked a cry from him, as did the second, and the third. If it ached before, now the pain was enough to rip him apart. Shiro had never put so much strength into every crash of his hips. Keith could think of nothing else other than that bruising rhythm, how he couldn’t tell pain from pleasure.

“Good?” asked Shiro again, bringing the prosthetic hand down mercilessly on the curve of his ass. Keith’s legs jerked on the flare of pain, a sob replacing breath that didn’t return in time for the next blow. “Hmm, Keith?” Another rock of those hips sent pleasure soaking his body from the inside. “Is it good, Keith?”

Keith couldn’t even think to lie. He nodded, and then as Shiro’s too-hot human hand gripped his slowly heating ass, groaned, “Y-Yesss.”

“Now, that’s better.” Shiro leaned down, keeping up that punishing rhythm, sucking blood and bruise to the juncture of Keith’s neck and shoulder. “You feel so good. You always do, Keith.”

“Shiro,” hissed Keith, and again, louder, more watery, “S-Shiro,” as Shiro ran his hands down Keith’s trembling frame, helping to tilt Keith’s hips up for the selfish pleasure they both chased. “Shiro.” The man still touched him as if he was the most precious thing he’d ever lay his hands on, and Keith savoured it, because he didn’t know if he’d be able to feel this ever again.

“Not Shiro.”

The low whisper would’ve snapped Keith from his pleasure, and of course the not-Shiro fucking him right now knew that, because the soft flesh of a human hand was grasping his length and beginning to stroke. Pleasure clouded his thoughts, and it no longer mattered that he was probably going to die in this cell, valued as nothing but a hole to be used by his unfamiliar lover.

“Kuro,” the man whispered into his ear. It was barbed, and poisonous, and most of all  _ greedy, _ in the way things were when they were denied after years and years.

Keith struggled to put meaning to the word. “K-Kuro?”

The word was electric. The man groaned, and the sound was  _ thrilling, _ because it was a sound that Shiro had never made before — and it was all Keith’s.

“Kuro,” Keith said again, blearily, and it was the final thing he remembered before the man stroked him faster, to completion, and with one last thrust emptied himself into Keith’s waiting insides.

 

* * *

 

 

“I've decided," Kurogane Takashi said from across the room, zipping up his trousers and sliding into his tailored dress shirt. "You fuck well, but I fuck better."

Keith pushed himself up laboriously onto his elbows, not trusting his body to sit upright without toppling to the cracked concrete floor. He regarded Kuro silently for a moment.

“Unsurprising,” he said. His voice was weak, not by volition.

“Well, you like cliche.” Kuro studied his reflection, the creases in his shirt. His eyes flicked to Keith. “Like flowers and dark chocolate every Valentine’s.” Keith flinched at the bitter memory, and Kuro smiled. “Like coffee every morning, one square of sugar, one kiss before, one after.”

“Stop,” said Keith.

“Like late night joyrides and blowjobs at the top of mount Arus under nothing but the stars—”

“Stop!”

Kuro laughed, coming over to sit at the edge of the bed. The belt lay carelessly coiled between them. Keith knew that if he looked, there’d be raw red strips encircling his arms.

“Too much?”

“Yeah.” Keith couldn’t meet Kuro’s eyes.

“Aw, don’t be like that, baby. Look, you came to find me in the first place. You still love me. I know.” The man ran fingers through the white shock of his fringe, contemplative. “And before you interject, I kinda feel bad about having to break your heart this way. But it is what it is.”

“I came to bring you home,” said Keith abruptly.

“Home? Your home isn’t with  _ them,” _ snorted Kuro derisively. “They don’t deserve you.”

Keith felt the edges of his anger dissipate.  _ Didn’t deserve Keith? _ This man — Kuro  _ or _ Shiro — had berated him for trying to keep Pidge in line. If anything, Keith was the one who didn’t deserve to be in Voltron. He was always compromising the group, falling for diversions, muddling the AI, rushing off on his own in spites of anger he would regret days later.

Kuro’s hand, the human one, squeezed his knee.

“I’ve noticed how they spurn you. They don’t understand you, Keith. They don’t understand  _ us.” _

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” said Keith bitterly. “I can’t — I can’t go through this again —”

“You know it’s true. I want you here. No, even if you’re my prisoner, I  _ need _ you here. I’ve grown rather fond of you, and I know you feel the same.”

Kuro shuffled closer, and Keith let him. Any moment and Keith might snap under the immense pressure. But he didn’t want to snap. He wanted to believe Kuro, even past all the promises that weren’t worth shit.

“An entire year, Shiro,” Keith said brokenly, to the man who killed the Shiro he knew, “I thought I lost you. I had nothing left.”

The man gently hushed him. Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. Keith lowered his eyes and crawled over, ignoring the belt buckle cutting into his knee as he folded himself into that welcoming embrace. Nothing beat this, even if his acceptance meant cheapening himself for an endless web of dirty lies.

“I still love you,” said Keith.

“I still love you too,” said Kuro.

Blinking away tears, Keith leaned in to kiss that growing, scythe-like smile.

A single fluid movement did it. Keith snatched the belt up and wrapped it around Kuro’s neck.

The struggle was efficient and brief. From the awkward position on the bed Keith had just enough leverage to slam Kuro chest-down onto the ground. A stray kick pushed the bedframe and it grated against the rough floor. One of his knees pinned both of Kuro's arms against his back, leaving Keith's arms free to tighten the belt. Kuro’s bucking weakened, but the commotion was enough, and shouts rang out from outside the metal door. Beyond were guards, and guns. It was a dead end with no way out.

Kuro craned his head, those eyes dark with hate.

Keith thought about Allura’s expression as she handed him the yellow envelope marked confidential, how her voice had trembled as she joined the dots and untangled the lines and confirmed what Keith had suspected for years. He thought about how hard she had cried in the conference room right there in front of him, while he hadn’t the soul left to shed even a single tear. He thought about all those sinfully good nights spent twined with heady warmth, and how in every one of them he had spent carefully plotting and building a castle of tiny moments that would lead up to their final waltz.

“I followed you here because I had to. I loved you, Takashi, and still do.”

He thought about how, even after all of that, he had confessed to Takashi anyway, because he was ruined and had been for far too long. 

It had always been inevitable.

“You lie well, Takashi,” Keith said, as the last embers in the man’s eyes began to fade, “But I've always lied better.”

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like i have to apologise although i don't really feel sorry for it ASDFALFDS
> 
> if you wanna scream at me i am available for your shouting pleasure at [@k_uill on twitter](https://twitter.com/k_uill) and i have a more respectable account on [AO3: kuill](archiveofourown.org/users/kuill)
> 
> ok but look, you're here too so that makes the two of us :)


End file.
